Monday

Once again, storms raged last night through south central Wisconsin. Repeat lightning, pounding rains that caused flash floods and, of course, the furious winds.

And once again they toppled a huge farmette tree -- one that fell across a distant flower bed, resting in part on a poor, sagging birch. That section of the yard, right close to the sheep shed, now holds the official designation of being a total mess.

Ed's comment this morning? When the other tree fell down (about a month ago) and I had to clear it, I kept saying -- thank God this happened before the mosquitoes came!  

No such luck this time. In fact, a good rain like that only promises a swell in their population.

Clearing a partially felled tree is grueling and sometimes dangerous work. You can't make mistakes. Doing it while bugs are buzzing around your head and landing on any possible surface of skin or clothing makes it only worse. True, there is the protective mesh clothing, but zipping yourself inside it proves to be surprisingly hot. Who would have thought that putting on a porous nylon cover would make you sweat!

The rains interspersed with sunny days have been, of course, good for the flowers and today the lilies really exploded. Looking out from the vantage of the porch, we are finally seeing the gorgeous, varied blooms of the lily bed.






... against the backdrop of an almost Impressionistic palate of more distant blooms.






I take a pre-breakfast walk, ignoring the bugs, enjoying the beauty of a garden in full bloom.






Okay, breakfast.






Later, driving out to pick up Snowdrop, I pause for a second to give an appreciative nod to the roadside flower bed. It is in its second year and so it's finally starting to fill in. It's also impossible to photograph well, as it is very long, somewhat sloped and not too wide. But I can give you an idea of just one segment of it!






It's pretty warm outside, but Snowdrop asks to keep her sweater on and I offer no comment.






We go to the playground and she so wants to swing, but the sunshine has warmed her favorite swing to an uncomfortable degree. I offer a solution: place the sweater on the seat! Yay sweater! Happy girl!

I'm catching the children! -- she tells me as she swings towards the beach were little ones are playing.






A thoughtful spin on the climbing structure...






Strengthening those arms!






And finally, a climb up on the life guard chair to enjoy the bowl of fruits that Gaga brought for our little outing.






Oh no, all gone?






After this adventure, I drop Snowdrop off with her parents -- she has a 2.5 year old check up (looking great!) and I have a free afternoon.

Well, to a degree.

When I return home, I see that Ed has not tackled the tree yet. It really is an odious job, but it must be taken care of soon. We're not sure the birch can support the heavy old tree and it would be a shame to lose that too.

I give one huge sigh and then offer to help. I'll wave the mosquito paddle around you.
That wont be safe. Two of us standing under that tree is definitely not a good idea. Do your projects. You need your afternoon. I'll take care of the tree.

Still, time passes and he stays inside.

The bugs are at their lowest number at this time of the day... I prod.
You're right. I'm going right now.

He stays put. Honestly, Snowdrop bounded into the doctor's office with greater enthusiasm that he has for working outside today.

In the end, without further talk, we both go out to tackle the job. He saws, I pick up fallen limbs and stack them in his tractor wagon. We do this until he starts feeling too tired to be safe with that power saw. Half done. Maybe more.

A monarch crosses my path as I return to the farmhouse. She dances from one milkweed flower to the next. We'll watch to see if she laid eggs.

The butterflies and bees, the flowers, the peas, tomatoes and berries, the blooming crab, the overloaded lilac -- they give us so much joy! At every single breakfast on the porch, we talk about how beautiful the world is outside.

This day had elements of the flip side: tending to the land when it needs help, when it's not so pleasant out there, when the air conditioned farmhouse seems like a spot in heaven.

But all I need to do is glance out again, catch a glimpse of that butterfly. And of the lilies, daisies, irises, phloxes, asters, sunflowers, campanulas, lupines, lavender and a million other daintily beautiful flowers.

Ed and I know this one truth: working the farmette land together is, for us, important. And deeply satisfying. And the benefit is obvious, at breakfast in the morning, or when a pizza guy delivers pizza (last Saturday) and says -- I just want you to know, like holy shit, the flowers here are just amazing!

Sunday

How about this idea: just photos for you today! I'm sure you can guess their backstory, just knowing that Snowdrop slept over at the farmhouse and that she came back later in the day with the young family for our traditional Sunday dinner.

Two details you may not pick up on your own: I really tried to up the cooking a bit. Call it the Parma influence. For dinner, I used bigger shrimp and added mussels to my pasta dish (Snowdrop loves both -- mussels and shrimp). Second point -- it's true love for my family that pushed me toward the raspberry patch (damn mosquitoes!) so that I could offer the berries along with ice cream for dessert. Snowdrop rewarded my efforts by devouring not only her berries, but those of her neighbors as well.

The rest? Just make your best guess from the photos.






"Ahah! Come down for pancakes!"





















Yoga.
















Reunion with mommy.






What's blooming at the farmette?











Group shot!






Dinner! The Aperol Spritz match Ed's shirt.






Happy girl.






A day well spent.

Saturday

We're on the porch, as usual, eating breakfast, looking out at the farmette gardens before us. I turn to Ed -- I feel cheated, really really cheated.
He nods.
I mean, it's not that I didn't expect it, but still.
I hear no protest. He agrees.
It's just so sudden!
Again, a sympathetic nod.






Of course, I'm talking about the mosquitoes. The day before I left for Europe, I was tending to our flowers, weeding, supporting, clearing, helping. It was perfectly fine to move around bushes and raspberry stalks, to walk over to the blueberries with Snowdrop.

Now, I could not walk the length of the path to even look at our flowers without being attacked.

I need protection. I dig out the bug suit. We both have netting outfits -- mine has a jacket, pants and a hood -- if you wear this stuff, the bugs will still buzz around you, but 99% of them wont make their way near your skin. The garden looks a little hazy through the fine mesh of my hood, but at least I get to explore it now. To the tune of a buzzing sound, but hey, you make do.






Ed's not satisfied though. You're talking about a guy whose mind is always inventing, creating, designing improvements. In the week I was away, he developed an entirely new method of cutting metal. It may result in a serious patent. The man just never gives up on improving stuff.

And so he makes his way to the store and comes back with some Eucalyptus based stuff: at least it will keep them from swarming around you, he tells me.

Every little thing helps.


In the late morning, I go over to the young family's home to help them prepare their own yard, as they have several showings and an open house this weekend. Their accepted offer fell through, as often happens when the buyers turn out to be flakes and so now they are forced to reopen negotiations with other interested buyers.

Snowdrop still has that fresh excitement at having me show up...






We set up shop in the small yard. We weed, she mows.






I'm fascinated how the girl no longer seems like a two year old.






She plays beautifully on her own, she recounts events with great detail, she sings songs, she observes and asks questions (are you talking about me? -- was a common one today, because, well, oftentimes we were) ...






When we're done, her mom and I take her for a walk. And then she and I detour to the playground by the lesser lake while her mom and dad finish up with house stuff.






The water appears actually quite clear. There is (for once) a life guard on duty. No one is swimming and I ask him about the water quality. He is enthusiastic: it's surprisingly good! Look how clean it looks!
Yes, I can see the fish around your feet.

Snowdrop stares at me, at him, at his feet. The fish had long disappeared, but I can see that she is concerned.

Want to come in the water? I don't have your swimsuit, but the water is wonderful and you can wade a little! I go in to demonstrate the lake's wonderfulness.

I don't want to -- she tells me, stepping back.






This puzzles me. She splashed in the same water just a few weeks back.
Are you sure?
Yes. She remains on the beach to prove her point.





Okay then, let's go get a snack at the coffee shop. But I don't want to drop this new found anxiety about the lake. Are you afraid of the fish?
Yes.
Oh, they don't bite! Not the wee fish in this lake. They would have to be this big to bite! I stretch out my arms to demonstrate what may be a sharklike size.
(Later, my daughter reports that Snowdrop informed them gleefully -- gaga says fish don't bite!)

It strikes me we so take for granted that a child has a full picture of how the world works. A dog knocked her down on this beach once. How is she to know that a fish wont do the same in the water?


In the afternoon, the mosquitoes have settled into the shrubbery (they do love the raspberry patch and flower beds, sipping nectar, causing trouble) equipped with Ed's magic spray, we're able to walk around a bit without attracting a million followers.






We even pick a few berries...






Slowly, I get used to the new reality. We are near the wetlands after all. It is always worse here than it is in downtown Madison (though I see that Snowdrop has quite a number of bites on her and she did not get them from the farmette, but most likely from the  school playground, despite their use of bug spray). Too, we know that the numbers of mosquitoes will ebb and flow.

More importantly, we remind ourselves of how incredibly lucky we are! If it's too hot outside (yesterday), we turn on the air. if the bugs are vicious, we go inside, or, as right now, we sit on the porch and have the pleasure of being outdoors without being bothered by them. We live at a time when our lives are made easy in ways that even 100 years ago seemed remarkable.







Evening. Snowdrop is here for a sleepover!

(Oh! I think this grandma ought to feed her a few more tortelli or fried bread! The Parma shorts -- size 2! -- are too big on her!)





The girl has had an unusually chaotic day (so many showings, and uncooperative cats, and disrupted naps, that I fully expect for her to be one huge train wreck. She is not that at all. Instead, she rushes to her new doll (raffi), and attends to her. And attends to her some more.






And some more.






Only when it is way past her bedtime, does she let go of her doll to go draw silly sketches at my desk with ahah.





At bedtime, perhaps predictably, she asks for long sleeved PJs. It's not a hot night, but still, it's summer! I have the sweetest short sleeved PJs for her.

Ed looks at me with disbelief. As in -- I do not get why you can be so obstinate... what the heck does it matter what she wears?

I think of myself as being a reasonable human being and yet here I am, asserting myself with a little one over summer pj's.

I go upstairs and change her top to a long sleeved shirt and she at once relaxes. Like magic!
What were you worried down? Ed asks...  That she'll wear a sweater for the rest of her life? And that would be a problem for what reason?

He goes back to his invention design, I pick up a book that I've been loving since my flight last week, and Snowdrop? Well, even though it is nearly two hours past her bedtime, I hear her chatting tp Raffi. Explaining to her this crazy mixed up world of ours I suppose...

it feels like Monday, even though it's... Friday?

... but of course, it's Friday. Yet, it's the start of a new week for me here! Wait, no, it's the end of a week. Weird.

Thank goodness there is the predictability of breakfast on the porch to keep me grounded! (Vibrant colors, no?)






My return is, as every return -- very wonderful. I'm still full of memories, but mainly I'm looking forward. I've given myself time (all those travel hours!) to mull over new ideas and so I feel energized. But all that is rather standard fare for me when I come home.

I suppose this time, two things really stand out for me. First of all, Ed was not exaggerating when he said that in my absence, the mosquitoes descended full force. When I step out to survey the flowers this morning, I am aghast. It's insane out there! This mosquito batch is especially vicious in the morning. It is impossible to stay out even for a minute without protection. I right one delphinium that had toppled (so much rain has fallen this spring!), cutting off a stem that was beyond repair, pick exactly four raspberries for Snowdrop (there are hundreds of ripe ones!) and run back indoors, swatting and slapping all the way.

So that's a drag, albeit a predictable drag.

I stand still long enough to do one garden photo. Here it is.






After, I rush to finish unpacking, do major grocery shopping -- all those things that are part of any return, but also part of Friday, so that it feels almost like I have returned to a normal state.

But I haven't, really. Warsaw, Parma - they're on my mind. I pick the day's outfit (granted -- shorts and a tshirt) with care. I wear my better sneakers. And I plan an Italian meal for Sunday dinner. With elements of Parma.

Okay, all trivial stuff. Let me note the second thing that stood out for me today. If mosquitoes are the downside, then certainly picking up Snowdrop is beyond wonderful. The girl loved her days visiting many beloved family members while I was away. But now that she is back in school and in the business of doing her everyday routines, she craves predictable and if I am anything at all, it is that I am there for her, offering after-school adventures virtually every day of her very young life. And so she is thrilled to see me today! Oh, I am equally happy, but she just expresses it so vivaciously!

That smile just never fades when she is at peace with her world.






Familiar stuff, right?  (Keeping hair out of her face...)






But so precious!






It is very warm (oh, I know, there is the sweater; my instincts are to let her keep it for now) and so I suggest the community pool. She's a happy girl there and each time, she grows just a little in her bravery and experimentation.

We are lucky to have a season pass, so that we can come in without waiting when it opens at 1. And so for a few minutes, we have a very quiet pool.






But then come the busloads of kids from various summer school programs. Honestly, today, it looks like the Bear Mountain pool in New Jersey that my parents favored on hot New York City Sundays (Bear Mountain State Park is not too long a drive from midtown Manhattan). I still have photos from those family outings: shoulder to shoulder "swimming!" Not unlike today:






There was an article in the NYTimes a few days ago about the value of community pools -- the great equalizers in summer fun. Sure, to a degree. But since there are neighborhood (private) pools sprinkled throughout the city, kids tend to remain in the ones close to their homes. Season passes at the private pools are at least five times the price of the one at the community pool and there are membership entrance fees as well. And so we have a rather segregated pool structure here.

The community pool is especially crowded with large groups of older kids. It's a great thing to see them laugh and cavort here, but it would be also great to see more of the younger kids, perhaps with families.

Of course, for Snowdrop, because the crowds are older, the shallower sections of the pool are less crazy busy and so I worry less about her being pushed or thrown off balance. I hover, but mainly to make sure that the kids who are running in from the shore (it's a nicely progressive pool in terms of depth -- sort of like a beach) don't knock her down.






And now we are at the farmette and she wants to pick berries and though there are ripe ones, including her beloved blueberries, I gather her up and run inside. Damned bugs.

Ah, but inside, there is a present for her. And no, it's not the cardboard doll to dress with felt clothing -- a gift purchased in Parma that when opened, I saw immediately that it was beyond her age capabilities. I hastily stopped at a toy store and bought a... (kill me for it) baby, with the biggest mop of hair ever. And predictably she loves it to pieces.






We eat fruits, read books and it feels special because it is special! Returns are like that.






Crazy, beautiful, full of profound joy.